How many times
I lay awake thinking
of a friend from the past
of who's fate i've no inkling

I've left him behind
gone on, on my own
I've gone very far
but know i'm alone

What I wouldn't give to go back
to those days oh so few
The days when we played
Us, We, Them, Those two

Our parents look on us
as if they had gained
an extra child of thier own
and their love was not feined

It did not matter
what was mine was yours
we lived in different houses
did we ever knock on each others doors

we swam and we fished
all day and all night
upon the stars we wished
no end was in sight

We went our own ways
for many a year
occasionaly we met
and spoke of times dear

of our jobs and our wives
our children and debts
could it be oh so long
it would last some time yet

The call in the night
His parents in tears
my soul filled with fright
the grinding of gears

To your bed side I sped
your hand I did hold
I watched as your soul fled
your story full told

The words never spoken
or even thought of
between to grown men
Why can't we say love

Many think this the end
one half departed
he lives on in me
us, we, they, never parted

He was my friend and I loved him.

Life: The abridged Version

Stupidity is the savior
From all the worries of my life
Protects the innocent from the world
Blocks the evil from our sight
And in its sweet embrace
We may find peace

Peace is the comfort
For which we search
From our family and our friends
To keep us happy we seek it
Unattainable, out of reach
Of our small understanding

Understanding will always be sought
Within, without, it wont be found
The pursuit will last forever
Our frail human bodies
Must surrender to time
And so we die
Thank ye.

More Jelixian Nonsensical Poetry"
Electroencephalography,
Means not a single thing to me.
I use it to impress my friends,
Spelling it from end to end.
And yet I know not what it means,
Something with the brain it seems.
I suppose that I could go and see,
The meaning of electroencephalography.
But that, of course, would be no fun.
For it could be looked up by anyone.
But I've a different predilection:
To make up my own definition.

Electroencephalography,
The study of things beneath the sea.
Electroencephalography,
That little bump below my knee.
Electroencephalography,
What happens when you hug a tree.

Look it up now, if you feel the need,
Anyone can, if they can read.
The real meaning means nothing to me,
The reason is simple, don't you see?
Looking it up just would not be,
Electroencephalography.

It is with trepidation I enter here,
To this group I am new,
But this board is one of great merit,
Something that's long overdue.
But there's one thing that worries me,
For I have travelled far,
But nowhere do I see my oasis,
Is there a Bastard Bar?
In my truck I have many supplies,
Spirits and ale on tap,
So, can I have a corner to set up,
Or, is that idea merely cr -er - erroneous?

;)

Cheers

There are many kind of tears
and many faces one can weare

the tears of sorrow
linger the loss...

the tears of pain
linger the wound...

and rearly the tears of happiness
who come in lifes greatest moments...

but the rares of them all
the one to fear when it is called
that is the tear of hate
it have no mate
it come alone
one single tear leaves one eye
and as it fall
hate is born
and I would kill
any one in any way
just to make the tear of hate
go away

Elves

Little elves, little elves
Too many little elves
See the way they move,
See the way their ears point
See the torches they carry,
burning, burning, burning
Fire sets a loser ablaze,
He run around, screaming his ass off
And the elves laugh at him
Stupid elves, go away,
I don't wanna go before my time
So die, elves, die!
Cower before my uzi,
Spreading 9mm death all around.
Die, elves, die!
Go to hell, I don't wanna see your ugly mugs again
Just go to hell and die!

By Insomniac, the UV Insenstive Poem guy

And now, a Penisaur-inspired poem:"
"Berry Bog"
A stranger in the bog draws near,
trampling soft, wet ground.
Pushes aside obstructing leaves,
wary not to make a sound.
Tipping over every log,
looking for his prize,
he does not detect the gaze
of a pair of unseen eyes.
The snake in the shadows holds
what the man searches for,
the man looks but one more time,
on the cold bog floor.
The old man stands up straight,
and turns to walk astray,
"oh well, there are more berries,
at the market anyway".